Gremlins

We've been underway for long enough this patrol that gremlins are starting to peak their heads out of hiding. It happens every patrol. Equipment runs and breaks; parts and pieces deteriorate in the harsh salt environment; springs get sprung; valves leak; wires corrode; bolts back out. It's a fact of life on a boat. Ahem, ship...excuse me.

I have a mental picture of what shipboard gremlins look like. They're certainly not the cute and furry little creatures from the movie, even though those had some wicked looking teeth. And I think there are different species and varieties of shipboard gremlins:

Genus: Nauticaus gremlinus (shipboard gremlins)
Species: Engineering -- Snipariun* mechanicum (mechanical variety) or Snipariun electricus (electrical variety) or Snipariun piparian (pipe-inhabiting gremlins -- these are particularly fond of the sewage system, but can also live in raw water, fresh water, cooling water, grey water, or fuel pipes) * in honor of John Snipe, father of modern naval engineering (google him)

Electronics -- Twidgeticus electronicus is really a generic catch all for electronics gremlins because they come in such a stupendous variety of shapes, sizes and aggressions for each type of electronics equipment we have onboard: navigation, radar, comms gear, etc.

Nauticaus gremlinus minor are small boat gremlins.

Snipariun mechanicum drink diesel fuel like whiskey. They love chewing up valves and the natural oil on their fingers and toes eats up gaskets wherever they touch or step. They bathe in lube oil and use hydraulic fluid for cologne. Their skin is toughened, almost scorched thick by the heat from the engine room. They are the most ancient of gremlins. They're clunky and they grumble.

Snipariun electricus are more delicate, but oh so much more wile-y. They are likely closely related to Twidgeticus electronicus; second cousins, maybe. Their fingers taper sharply to points and can shoot out a burst of electricity from 10 feet away. Their eyes sparkle like a class Charlie fire. They cackle in glee and belch brown outs.

Snipariun piparian like hairballs for dessert. Their very most favorite delectable treats are green scrubbing pads and baby wipes. They're sludgy and shit-brown. They drip a little. Individual specimens of Snipariun piparian have preferences for either sewage pipes or grey water pipes, but they can move easily between either system. Needless to say, these guys are stenchiferous beyond all imagining. If they fart--get an SCBA ASAP!!

Twidgeticus electronicus thrive in the cable runs throughout the ship. They're lightning fast, and actually I'm pretty sure a few of them rode a bolt of lightning down to our 1MC (public address system) last summer while we were in drydock. They are some of the most insidiously devious gremlins indentified. They snicker in your ear, taunting you to find them, and then scamper just out of sight when you get close. They travel in packs; it is very rare to find a single Twidgeticus electronicus on his or her own. They like plaid.

All gremlins like to hide. They stuff themselves away into hidey holes and come out briefly to wreak their havoc. Then they tuck away behind another piece of equipment to watch as chaos ensues while the engineers and Electronics Technicians try to lure them out again as they diagnose the problem. They're devilish hard to kill. Sometimes the best you can hope for is sending them into a nice long slumber.

Good engineering practices and solid technical skills are the best weapons against gremlins. But I'm pretty convinced there isn't any way to completely eradicate them from a 50-plus year-old ship.

Holiday Routine

Sundays onboard are typically pretty quiet days. Breakfast is served for a little longer so people don't have to get up quite so early if they don't have watch. We don't have a planned workday. Brunch is served from 1000 to 1200 (that's 10 am to noon). Divine Services are available at 1300 (1 pm) for anyone so inclined to attend. JO Pro Dev is at 1400 (2 pm -- today's session was on Effective Writing). Movies on the ship's system start at 1400. Sunday dinner is usually something a little special. And that's mostly it for the day.

Of course, the engineers are always working on fixing something that's broken. OPS is checking charts and tracklines. Watchstanders are still vigilant at all their watch stations. Department Heads and JOs use the quiet time to catch up on XO taskers. I caught up on enlisted evaluations, messages for review, and a few chapters of "ZeroZeroZero" by Roberto Saviano. "Holiday for some; routine for others" is the standard line.

Right now there's a poker tournament in full swing on the messdeck. We heard the shouts of disbelief at an amazing hand at Evening Reports in the wardroom.

But we're ready to shed our sleepy day for any kind of action at a moment's notice...

Murphy Was A Sailor

Sailors are a superstitious bunch. I was never so superstitious before the Coast Guard, but once I got onboard my first ship, that all changed. Don't whistle on the bridge; you'll whistle up a storm. Don't pack the night before returning to homeport; you'll get recalled (so true!! I've seen it happen). Don't bring bananas onboard; all kinds of bad things can go wrong. 

So I'm convinced Murphy was a sailor. Because it is an absolute truism that whatever can go wrong, usually will, and also usually at the most inopportune time. 

There we were, making our way at a pretty good clip towards our SAR case the other night. We were smack in the middle of the shipping lanes, with the closest merchant ship slowly overtaking us about 3 nautical miles (nm) off our port quarter, with a CPA (closest point of approach) of just over 2 nm. We had about 15 miles to go to get to the vessel we were enroute to assist and had just established radio comms (communications) with him and found out the nature of his distress. The OOD (Officer of the Deck; pronounced "oh-oh-dee," the person responsible for carrying out the CO's orders for that watch) was ENS JB; ENS EH had the Conn, breaking in and working on his qualification. We were just putting together our plan for responding to the medical emergency on the distressed vessel. 

SN WB calmly announces "I have a steering casualty," as the ship heels hard over to port. Welcome aboard, Mr Murphy! 

According to the Watch Officer's Guide's "Quick Rules of Shiphandling," Rule 10: When giving rudder/engine commands, generally follow the rule of 30: The sum of rudder and engine speed should not exceed 30 unless you are will to have the ship heel over hard; that is 15 degrees rudder + 15 knots. At 25 knots, use only 5 degrees, and so forth. 

We were transiting at about 15 knots. When the rudder drifted to left hard (rudder angle = 35 degrees), we did, indeed, heel over hard as well. It took a second or two for SN B's statement about a steering casualty to sink in. But when it did, the bridge team sprang into action. 

We came down in speed -- though I did remind ENS H later that a steering casualty at 15 knots in a busy shipping lane did actually consist of an emergency and it was ok to just bring the engines to all stop instead of walking them down in speed like the engineers prefer if we have the time. 

ENS B broke out the checklist that is on the front of the steering console, while BM2 CJ, the QMOW (Quartermaster of the Watch, pronounced "cue-mo") flipped to the more complete checklist in his emergency binder. BM2 J made the steering casualty pipe, notifying the rest of the crew of what was going on. Most everyone had already figured out something was up between the heeling over of the ship and the speed reduction. 

SK2 KH was the BMOW (Boatswain's Mate of the Watch, pronounced "bee-mo") and met up with MK3 CM, the Aux watchstander back in Aft Steering to see what the problem was. CO was on the radio with the closest merchant vessel, letting them know we had a casualty and requesting them to stay clear. 

The OOD was ordering the helmsman through different steering configurations to see if that would correct the problem. When nothing worked, the QMOW helped the helmsman break out the sound powered phones to establish reliable comms with the BMOW in Aft Steering. The OOD energized red-over-red navigation lights to indicate to other vessels in the area that we were "not under command." 

By this time, the BMOW and Aux watchstander were looking through the window into Aft Steering to see if "system is intact" or did we have hydraulic fluid spraying everywhere from a leak in the system. Thankfully, the system was intact, so they entered the space to see if they could figure out what the problem was. It was readily apparent that the tie rod had come unattached from the rudder post and was allowing the rudder to swing freely with no controlling mechanism. 

Once the problem was identified, the Auxiliary division including MKC JN, MK1 AA, MK2 AF, and EM2 TB quickly got the pieces reattached. We tested steering in all modes and came back up in speed to continue on to our SAR case. Murphy was onboard for a little bit, but we quickly got him contained by relying on training and teamwork -- Murphy's bane. 

Sunrise

I'm looking out the window right in front of my desk to a beautiful sunrise. The water is a multi-variate grey and silver, and the sky is a mottled grey, peach, yellow and light. 

There is barely a ripple of a breeze. Just a small swell, maybe 1-2 feet, is causing the water to rise and fall like an eternal heartbeat. 

It won't last for long like this -- in fact it's already changing. The peach is fading and being bleached out by the sun's intensity as it rises above the cloud behind which it's hiding. 

I must remember to soak in these moments and know that there are some things about being underway that I will always cherish.

Light Show

received 9-4-15

CO called me from the bridge last night to tell me there was an great light show
going on. We had been diverted from our regular patrol for SAR (search and rescue,
pronounced "sar"), so I knew I was going to be up later than I had originally
planned. I've never gotten a call from the bridge about an awesome light show,
so I quickly finished my email or whatever administrivia on which I was working
and made my way to the bridge.

There were storms off the starboard bow and off the starboard quarter. Great big
huge cumulonimbus anvil heads towering into the sky, that were being lit up from
the inside with massive bolts of lightning. Some of the lightning was streaking
crossways through the sky, but many bolts were striking crookedly down to the
earth's surface. And these were solid bolts -- not the wimpy kind that flash for
the briefest of split seconds. These bolts were boldly staying lit for seconds at
a time.

The flashes that were moving horizontally backlit the clouds with eerie yellows,
tans and greys, at times bright enough to turn night darkness into daytime
brilliance. It would be pitch black anywheres from two to ten seconds before
the next charge lit up, blinding everyone who was looking in its vicinity and
wrecking all of our night vision.

There's something mysterious, seductive and just the tiniest bit scary about
that contrast of brilliant flashes of visible energy against the impenetrable
dark depths of the ocean's surface...

Knights in Dark Blue Coveralls

Received Sept. 2

Last night was a busy night. We had a personnel issue that took CO and OPS well
into the wee hours of the morning to resolve. My heart and thoughts go out to all
our shipmates who are standing the watch while they have loved ones in crisis ashore.
It is not easy to be away from life-long families and friends while others you care
about are suffering. We do our best with our shipboard families and support networks,
but it is still a difficult and heart-wrenching situation.

OPS and CO worked hard to come up with a great solution that helped one shipmate last
night. Ha - I came up with the title for this post before I wrote it, and am just now
realizing how the title applies more than I thought it did. CO was in his dark blue
coveralls last night; I think OPS may have put his uniform on...or never taken it off
to go to bed -- I'm not sure. Either way, they did great things to assist our
shipmate in response to a crisis at home. They were definitely Knights in Dark Blue
Coveralls.

Anyway, I had a bit part in the efforts that got me up for about an hour at 2:00 am,
and then again for about 5 minutes at 4:30 am. When I was up at 2 am, I latched my
door open, because I knew I'd be up for a bit. When I got up at 4:30, I didn't think
about it, and shut my door behind me as I walked out of my state room.

We installed new handles and locks during the last inport to help simplify our key
management. I'm not sure I'm used to the new equipment yet, because somehow I didn't
realize that the little lock button had been pushed, and when I shut my door, I locked
myself out. My bed was *right **there!!** on the other side of a locked door.
I probably cussed. Out loud. Maybe even loudly out loud.
I ran through my options. I called the bridge to ask if they had keys when I damn well
knew the answer -- the OOD keys are kept in my stateroom underway so everyone knows
where they are. And where they were was behind a locked door.

I contemplated calling the Key Control Officer, who is our 1LT (pronounced "one el-tee,"
our Deck Department Head). But I knew he had just gotten off watch about an hour before
and wasn't getting enough sleep as it was without me calling him with a truly boneheaded
request.

I called Main Control where our engineers stand the engine room watch. I talked to MKC JN,
the Engineer of the Watch (EOW, pronounced "ee-oh-double yu"), to see if they could take
the hinges off my door to get me inside. Until I remembered that the door opens in because
the hinges are on the inside of the door.

However, he did give me the great idea of taking off the kick plate. Kick plates are
installed on doors where there is only one point of egress. A panel comes off at the
bottom of the door so you don't have to open the whole door to get out of a space. I
wasn't really sure how to get the kick plate off, so he offered to send up his Aux
watchstanders (Auxiliary watchstanders -- they make hourly rounds on equipment scattered
throughout the ship to make sure it all operates within appropriate parameters).

MK3 JB and FN JH came to my rescue and yanked off the kick plate from the bottom of my
door, allowing me access back to my room...and my bed so I could sleep for a few more hours.

Definitely also Knights in Dark Blue Coveralls!

42-Day Challenge

I've been after myself to write more. I enjoy it. I get a lot out of it. It's good for me. It helps me build my community. But for some reason, I have the **hardest** time actually doing it. I can always find something else to do, which usually involves sitting on my couch at home and watching tv or reading a not-so-intellectual novel while snacking on something that I really don't need to eat.

So I need a way to encourage myself to write. Starting last patrol, I drafted up a list of personal goals -- I even geeked out on it to the point that I printed out a spreadsheet with the dates at the top, and little boxes to check off for each goal that I completed each day or week or month. Some of the goals have stayed the same for this patrol: Eat healthy things first (this gives me permission to eat dessert, but I really must eat my salad first), drink two bottles of water per day, limit myself to 2 alcohol drinks per night on liberty port calls, and email my family at least once/week (they're very patient with me for sending out one mass email that copies everyone and the cousins, and even more patient when I don't actually get one sent).

New for this patrol are: Train for a 1/2 marathon that takes place a few weeks after we return to homeport (I'm sure there will be more on this later, but just as a teaser, it takes 34 laps around the flight deck to make a mile), do my neck stretches at least 3 times per day, and...write a blog post a day for 42 days straight, starting today.

42 seems like a random number, but the more I thought about it, the more I like it. I initially chose it because...well, I turned 42 last month and it has a nice poetic symmetry to it. It's also exactly six weeks of writing, which will be challenging, but is totally do-able and may help me develop some good habits that I want to cultivate.

We'll also be underway for the whole time, which gives me good material to write about, but makes me also think I need some rules for what I can legitimately call a post:

-- I must be extremely careful to not give away operational details, including schedules or techniques, tactics and procedures (TTP, pronounced tee-tee-pee), which in some ways is no fun at *all* because that's where some of the best stories come from. But OPSEC (operational security, pronounced op-sek) is important -- lose lips sink ships, and all that.

-- It's no fair for posts to just be a recitation of the day's meals, as tempting as that is because food is morale. Nor can I just provide a recall of what we did that day -- see rule 1.

-- Posts can be short, but there needs to be substance in each one. A story, a well-developed thought, or some insight. The best ones will be a combination of all three.

I'm going to ask a couple things of you:
-- Please encourage me. I don't think this will be easy. I have a lot of things to track and do as XO, and those are definitely my priority. But I think I'm good enough at my job that I can take 20 minutes or so a day to do something that I want to do for myself. I just won't always want to, and your encouragement will help me to do it anyway.

-- Please understand that underway internet connectivity is not entirely reliable. I will try my best to write every day, but posts may not go up on a daily basis because of when they get sent out to my trusted agent ashore.

Which brings me to my trusted agent ashore -- my Uncle Heathen. He has graciously offered to act as intermediary for me and post what I send him. Uncle H, thanks very much for helping me with this endeavor!

Thanks also go out, in advance, to my CO, CDR JMC. He is trusting me with an enormous amount of latitude by allowing me to post underway. I will do my best to uphold that trust, by following the rules I already shared with the crew (and on the blog) when I came to DILIGENCE.

Now, bring me that horizon!